The lower sixth have all finished their exams now, and thoughts are turning towards university. Last night I had them all over to talk about UCAS, gap years and other scary, grown-up things: it turned into an hour's grilling on the minutae of personal statements and tuition fees. I offered my services as a UCAS form goer-overer* and I've already been handed three personal statements since then: all rubbish, of course, but gaining marks for being keen! I talked to Pam today about university type things and he told me about consultancies that try to get candidates into Oxbridge; more specifically, he told me how much they charge. I'm in the wrong business! If it weren't for my sense of ethics** I could do that - try and get undeserving rich brats into academic institutions that are far above their intellectual capabilities, fleecing them royally at the same time. At last I've found a way to supplement my salary that is both legal and (although dubious) not technically immoral. Hurrah!

* A person who goes over, of course.
** Something to do with a belief that university is not always the right option on leaving school, and that Oxbridge places should go to those who are clever enough for them, not those whose parents have paid oodles and noodles of dosh to blag a way into some college. Had better stop now before the rant kicks in.***
*** If I'm not too late already.

Perhaps I maligned Fatso's interests... he's developing his understanding of politics as well. This site is well worth investigating further, especially if you have lots of work to do and are searching for a diversion!

I have a feeling that my visitor this weekend corrupted Fatso as I've been finding bizarre google searches on my computer. Hamster porn, I ask you! Mind you, it looks like his seach has been successful... frisky little critter! :-)

Things not to say to a pupil who has one of their A-level exams tomorrow:

Have fun.

Helpful words of reassurance come in from Tim, who wrote before I managed to get off the computer; he says

you didn't nest the brackets (so you should be ok (I hope))

This is good. On the other hand, yesterday he wrote

I have photos of you if you are short.

I am indeed short, therefore you must be in possession of photos. (Logic supplied by Addled Maddle, your drunken correspondent) I'm not quite sure what I was going to write next, so I won't.

To say that I feel blobby is an understatement. I am more than capable of having the Christmas number one single in the year 1993, and am certainly able to irritate the pants off those who watch me. In fact, much of my pulling technique is based on this ability (the pant-removal part, not the Xmas No 1 bit, you understand) (actually, you might not understand, but smile and nod anyway; this is only polite and will appease me enough that I eventually shut up and go away) (you hope)

Ah. Brackets taking over my life. Or at least my writing. Time to stop. G'night.

I've spent much of today feeling confused and disorientated, although I have no idea why. Mind you, I went to Ikea with Ian this afternoon, where it's perfectly legitimate to look dazed and confused, so maybe this morning was just a trial run to get in the right frame of mind. On the other ahnd, it might just have been caused by the presence of a Bomb Disposal Unit lorry outside the Bursar's office this morning... very bizarre!

So much seems to be happening that, despite a large reduction in teaching time, the last two weeks have been frantic. I suspect it's not going to get any easier in the near future either. It's the start of the end of the year and, along with reports, that also means planning for next year. I'm taking responsibility for the Duke of Edinburgh award scheme in school, so I've spent afternoons looking at tents, testing trangias and consulting Langmuir. I'm also getting the opportunity to work in the learning support department, nominally for six lessons a week. The intention is to complete some sort of dyslexia support qualification via a part-time/distance learning sheebang; the logistics of this are proving somewhat elusive at present. Hey ho - I'm sure it'll all come out in the wash!

The end result of all this faff will be slightly less waffle going on here, as I try to get things done before the end of term. Photos etc (as requested by the general populace... well, one or two of you) will be scanned and published when I have time. Until then, you'll just have to imagine it all. Hasta la vista.

Oh no - more ways to waste time when I should be working...

Flipperdy-flapperdy nervous excitement: paperwork, preparation, marking, reports, laundry, tidying, not to mention a big dollop of faffing. Now time for rounders (that most meaningful of sports, more accurately described as cricket for girlies) which is a bit of a giggle but not very strenuous. Oooh stream of consciousness post - making about as much sense as I do in real life. Meh. Time to go...

The day so far:
Teaching (fair to middling)
Lunch (reasonable)
Tidying the flat (like a manic thing with an obsession with hoovering and throwing away old paperwork)
Rainbows (eeek)
Duty (so-so)
More tidying (whip out that duster!)

Rock'n'roll!

The trouble with shopping in a hurry is that you don't spend enough time paying attention to the small details. Today, the small details were these:

* Not all quiches are on the "buy 2 for £2.50" special offer. I grabbed things off the shelves and got to the checkout in record time, only to have an enforced return to the chilled food section to revise my selection.

* I then had problems locating the cocktail sticks (it's my age, you know) so I quickly picked a good-looking assistant to help me in my search. As I dutifully followed him though the aisles, I noticed with horror that his trousers were too short: far too much sockage was on display. It's enough to put a girl off her almond croissants.

Gaaah! "More haste, less speed", as my granny used to say; I think I'd better slow down.

A nice man has just installed my new cooker (after the old one had *ahem* a small accident). Seems like a good excuse to get cooking again!

I think I'm melting.

On a more cheery note, I do have lots of nice photos.

I've just managed to explode chocolate milkshake across my kitchen. Aaargh!

Nice things from today, in an order that is aesthetically pleasing, at least to my untrained eye:

Runny brie

Playing my viola

Walking in the sun

Wensleydale with cranberries

Playing snooker, where "too thin" is a bad thing

My pink top that always attracts compliments (but I'm sure it's nothing to do with the neckline, yer honour!)

I love exam time, in a perverse, teachery sort of way. Most of my classes are busy doing independent revision so I've been able to whittle away some of my woodpile of filing, not to mention paddling in the sea of forward-planning. What's more, the sun's shining. What more can any girl ask?*

* This is a rhetorical question, but if you really want to answer it then use that box o'er there or staple your suggestion to a pigeon and throw it in my direction.

There I was, happily chatting on the phone, when I glanced through my diary to see what delights are lined up next week. Eeeek!! Would you believe it?! Tomorrow morning, before lessons start, is a deadline for end-of-term reports for Upper Sixth! Aaargh!

As you can well imagine, at that point I'd written the grand total of zero reports. I quickly made my apologies to my friend on the other end of the phoneline and settled down to write some reports. However, like many other pieces of sediment, I was soon moved on again by the currents of tea-making and the longshore drift of the mobile; I didn't actually start writing until nearly 11pm. Thankfully I only teach eleven Upper Sixth so I've just finished, but I suspect that long nights of report writing loom ahead - it's just that time of term. Be warned...

This weekend has been blissful: I had nothing planned, so filled the last day and a half with sleeping, eating, drinking and generally carousing. I've spent some quality time by myself, but also spent time doing spontaneous things with friends. I feel good.

See - Star Wars is an educational film! I'm not sure this qualifies me to show it to my classes instead of teaching. Bah!

Today I shall mostly be a hermit.

After teaching all morning, of course.

Mooching through a bookshop in the Bustling Metropolis today, I came across evidence that we are becoming a more matriarchal society...

"Look," says girl to her brother. "Here's the book of Mrs Greedy."

"No - *Mister* Greedy"

"Not it's not, it's Mrs. And here's Mrs Bump. And Mrs Sneeze."

I just ducked my head, hid my smirk and bought a very grown-up book.

Yesterday's prediction was right: I *am* wiped out now. I suspect that it has little to do with strenuous teaching, though, and a lot to do with The Man Who Ate Everything, which was part of this weekend's perfect present. Well, it would be perfect if it weren't for my lack of control when it comes to finishing reading and starting sleeping. I've spent most of today feeling sleepy-yawny and craving food; both are bad things. The present and the present-giver, however, are both good things, so mushn't grumble, I sh'pose!

As half term fades away into the distance, time to update this rambling epic. Where to start? Hmmm...

The end of last half term was even more manic than normal, but the Guider's-bottom-sized To Do list kept me on track and the vast majority of things that needed doing were done. On Friday evening I played in a concert with the school orchestra and assorted soloists (reasonable), then zoomed off in the Madmobile (woosh) to stay here (nice) with random DOGs for Ian and Laura's wedding (good). Much fun and jollity was had by all; Tim's photos, for those interested (or bored and seeking diversion) can be found here. My hair, in all its curly-flicky-redness can be observed here, along with my girlie pink shirt, both of which shocked some people. I suspect that - for some of them at least - it was the first time they'd ever seen me in a skirt. Mua-ha-ha!!

I headed off to Cheltenham on Sunday for a snog, a barbeque, a hot air balloon festival, Duncan the Depressed Octopus, a torrential downpour, a takeaway and a DVD: not all were intentional, but all were good. Well, apart from the DVD, which pitted werewolves against vampires in a most confusing sort of way that was too much for my brain to cope with, but six out of seven ain't bad.

Monday morning started with real potential: a lazy day in the company of friends, complete with cheese rolling, hot Brad action and more snogging. Instead I ended up driving to Exeter and not for pleasant reasons. Judging by the amount of traffic heading in the opposite direction on the M5, I was going the wrong way; based on the support I was able to give on arrival, I was right to keep heading south.

I came back from Exeter via Cheltenham (lunch) and Staffordshire (parents). I took my mum to see some film that I don't think will be much of a hit: it was pleasant enough but - as always - failed to live up to the book. Should have guessed, really. Hey ho - you win some, you lose some.

The kids are back now, and teaching starts again tomorrow. The exeat feels like it's lasted for ages, but I suspect that I'll be wiped out by lunchtime tomorrow. Pish!

I've just finished marking. I suspect that the gallon of tea consumed in the past ninety minutes will not help my sleeping any, although judging by my late-night stagger and squinty eyes I'm about to collapse.

This time tomorrow I will, all being well, be tucked up in bed in a bunk house in the Forest of Dean. I'm skiving Speech Day at school to go to Ian and Laura's wedding, and from there on to Sunny Cheltenham for a bit of a snog, and then maybe back to the Forest of Dean to see Mr and Mrs J on the Monday. Blimey - my holiday appears to be as busy as term time! Pah!

Balls! I have lots of them! 200, to be precise, courtesy of Mr Cohen's finest late-night shopping emporium and its wonderful purchasing economies of scale. I also have Private Eye and then biscuits, cakes, sweets, chocolates... I got a tad carried away whilst buying provisions for my late-night marking session. By the end of it, I might be sleepy but I'll be well-fed!

I have written my To-Do list and life planner for the next three days. It doesn't make pretty reading.

Mornings, I have decided, are not my forte. Bleurgh!

Snooker. Potted a red followed by a black: a break of 8. Am very chuffed - that's probably my highest break all year! Don't know now whether to go to bed or do some more marking.... I think that bed is winning. G'night.

At the end of a long, hot day in school, what better game to play than "Try To Make Miss E Embarrassed"? Marketing was the topic of the day for my GCSE group, and the discussion got round to the choice of appropriate media for different types of product.

Me: Of course, there are some things that you wouldn't advertise on TV
Boy 1: (whispering to friend sitting next to him) Like Dildos
Me: Absolutely. Dildos are a niche market product - which of course is another way of saying that they have a very specialist target market. Mind you, Ann Summers is trying to take the product into the mass market through careful use of place and promotion. Of course, that doesn't mean that sex toys aren't promoted in other ways - think of the Rabbit vibrator in Sex and The City...

....and on and on for another five minutes, explaining the world of sex toys using the theory of marketing. Ha ha - that'll teach 'em to play that game!

On Saturday I went to my first wedding of the year (out of a grand total of four or maybe five.... I'm obviously just that age). Village organists deserve to be shot. If the Queen of Sheba had arrived to music played like that she'd have turned straight round and left again. Dull and disinterested vicars should be the next in the wedding-cull. I was not, you may have noticed, impressed with the service itself. On the other hand, the reception was another bouilloire des poissons.

I first met the groom and his sister when I was 10, and we've been in touch ever since. Every year we went to camp with the St John Ambulance; I would only see them every twelve months but things didn't seem to change and the time-gap made little difference. I stopped camping with St John when I was 16 and, although I have photographs, I can remember precious little detail of the camps or the people who went.

This weekend changed all that.

The groom is still an active member of St John and the guest-list looked like a Who's Who of the camps I attended 15 years ago. People haven't changed. They look the same, have the same mannerisms and turn of phrase. What's worrying is that I remember them exactly as they looked on Saturday night. This leaves me wondering - how can I not have accounted for the passage of time? Have they just aged well? When I was young, did I assume that they were all sixty-plus because they were leaders, even when they must only have been forty? How come they all realised that Saturday's smartly dressed woman with short curly hair and glasses used to be the long-haired 16 year old wearing tatty jeans and walking boots? Have I really changed that little?! I'm not sure I want to know the answers.

It was lovely to catch up with them all: I've had invitations to join them on camp this year (although I think time will conspire against me) and next year (tempting); I've caught up with everyone's life story; I've been offered a job making teas when they're on duty for pop concerts at the Britannia Stadium. I laughed and sang and danced my little socks off, got home at 2am and then slept until nearly 3 on Sunday afternoon. I now have aching legs and a raspy voice, but it was worth it. I think I'm off now to find my old photo albums...

Them there Bangles decided that it was only Mondays that were Manic. Today has - quite conclusively - proved them wrong. I didn't stop working until I heard the siren call of the pint at 10.35pm, at which point my fate was sealed. I should have opted for an early bedtime, but decided not to. Whoops.

Today/tomorrow (depending whether you consider this to be today or yesterday) is my brother's birthday. I'd forgotten this fact until I was asked the date in class today/yesterday, at which point I did a teacher-swear ("PANTS!") and was asked his age. "Ooh, I normally think he's about 13," I replied, "but I suspect he's actually about 25. Or maybe 24. Hmmm. He's two and a half years younger than me, so that makes him... hmmm... maths is hard... dunno. That sort of age." I made up for my ineptness by phoning him just gone midnight; I'm sure that pleased him. Although he has webspace, he's filled it full of pictures of pussy (that'll be photos of his two cats, then) and has no webpage as such, so I can't, therefore, direct you in his direction, but I will say "'Appy Burfdy".

Drunken ramblings ought to stop now. G'night...

My fingers hurt from too much plucking. Damn these composers who write pizzicato!

Just like getting caught between two mirrors, this is The Infinite Cat project. It amused me, anyway! :-)

A man in a van has been and cleaned my windows! I can see!!

Today bodes goodness: the sun is shining, my hair is curly and I have only three lessons to teach this morning. Admittedly this afternoon I have D of E, tennis, tea in the House then junior pub quiz; but hey - nothing's perfect!

This evening I printed Guide forms, explained the intricacies of evaluation, taught marketing and found Nemo. I could do with another couple of hours now to do some marking. Please can someone arrange for evenings to last a little longer?

Today I have mostly been feckful, to make up for a weekend spent hungover doing very little work. The sun's quite nice too.

My AS-level Business Studies groups are preparing for an exam based upon a pre-released case study. This means that we can use the context of this business as a vehicle for revision. This year, the case study is about Screw Loose Ltd, an online retailer of nails, bolts and other DIY materials. Today's discussion centred around stock management, and the implications for Screw Loose if they run out of stock.

Me: Well, it's important that they don't run out of stock because it's a quite competitive market, and there are lots of substitutes.
Boy: (looking up from his notes) What? For screwing?!

Needless to say, there was a fair amount of smirking going on!

After duty, blogging and faffing, I set off for a spot of people-watching at Tesco. OK, so I also picked up a copy of Private Eye, a bottle of milk and a knife sharpener, but I was more interested in observing the life going on around me.

There was the lady wheelchair user, waiting patiently for the men crowded round the 'reduced to clear' chilled shelving to move; she said, "These men, they're worse than women when there's a bargain on offer."

Two men had just finished their shifts at work. Their high visibilty jackets, security badges and steeel toecaps spoke of heavy labour and aching backs.

A couple were arguing next to the split peas: a domestic over who paid the mortgage. It continued right to the checkout, and spilled out into the night air.

The old man with the missing teeth and two-day stubble was perusing the baked goods, searching for cheap bread, whistling under his breath.

The professional classes were represented by a young man, smartly dressed in a snappy suit, creased with thought-lines around the eyes and forehead.

And in the midst of all this normality, where was I? I wandered the aisles in a random fashion. I muttered under my breath as I investigated hair dye. I sang while I browsed the CDs. I laughed with excitement when I saw the new Terry Pratchett book. I fondled the croissants, debating out loud the relative merits of chocolate and almond pastries. I tried to catch the eye of the good-looking bloke at the next queue, but he studiously avoided my gaze.

People-watching, my arse. I was more of a spectacle than all of them put together. I hereby declare it to be "people-baiting".

It's been another good evening on duty in the House. I've done some Business Studies and some Economics (hurrah, questions I could answer!); I helped J prepare for her Spanish GCSE oral exam (although a Spaniard would have killed me for the way in which I murdered the language tonight); and I helped someone with some biology...

Girl: It's no good - I just can't do it!
Me: (Kind, caring tutor mode) Why not? What have you got to do?
Girl: Write something about why leaves give off water.
Me: (consulting the inner-geographer) Hmmm... evapotranspiration, eh?
Girl: That sounds sort of familiar but I can't remember.
Me: Have you got a text book?
Girl: Oh, I'd not thought of that. Here you are...
Me: (flicking though index and muttering under breath) hmmm... page 67... transpiration... stomata... nutrient transfer... diffusion gradient... OK, OK, I think I've got it: are you ready for this?
Girl: Go on...
Me: Leaves give off water because it's the tree weeing!*
Girl: You're not a biologist are you?!

I knew there was a reason that I'm not allowed in science labs; I think I've just remembered it.

* Which technically is true, as the leaves transpire water through the stomata as a way of maintaining the diffusion gradient to suck water (and accompanying minerals) from the soil into the roots. If the trees didn't get rid of the water somewhere then they'd burst. See - it's just like humans weeing, but upside-down: we take water in at the top and it goes out at the bottom; trees take it in at the bottom and get rid of it at the top. Simple, huh?!

This is all very well, but wouldn't it be nicer if we lived in a world where education was fully-funded and the army had to fundraise and hold jumble sales to cover its expenditure?

Wendy writes:

personally I'd try vodka - wendy

Sage advice, but it's a suggestion that I am unable to act upon under the terms of our spangly-new alcohol policy; drinking vodka on duty may cause the girlies in the House to be concerned about me. Mind you, I think they're concerned enough about me as it is - I've just sung the Prune Song to two of the juniors and they looked very, very scared! Whoops!

Caffeine is the only way I'm going to get through today.

You know the story: a girl goes out, gets a haircut, and is suddenly abducted by aliens and whisked off into a nice shop that sells exciting yet expensive gadgets and is forced to hand over her switch card in return for a small bag. I always thought it was an urban myth, but it's just happened to me. Bye bye curls; hello new watch. Life's hard.

Mental note: when spending an evening doing the hoovering, accompanied by the finest 80s disco classics played somewhere near the top end of the volume scale, remember to close the curtains before doing silly dancing.

After a weekend of yomping up hills, spying on kids from a distance, and then driving a minibus containing the semi-walking wounded (all in the name of D of E, yer honour) there are few pleasures more delightful than getting into a warm shower and massaging fruity-smelly shampoo into your scalp until it looks like you're wearing a foam hat.*

The only down-side to this is the fact that the tan you acquired throughout the weekend, and are feeling quite proud of, will wash off. Bah!

* Although this sight was not verified by an independent observer, I did check it out in the mirror and it looked both foamy and hatty to me. QED

Tea was a lovely vegetable curry, Guides was fantastic, and hopefully there's a pint waiting in the pub with my name on it. It's shaping up to be a remarkably fine evening.

Rainbows? You? - Jon

That's the price you have to pay for being a fat bottomed commissioner: I had boxes to deliver and forms to collect. I try not to go to Rainbows because they bring me out in a nasty allergic reaction. Besides, I always get told off for winding them up and making life hard for the Rainbow Guider. Me? Wind up small children?! As if!!

For a day that's included report-writing, teaching, a lunch meeting, inter-House swimming and some marking, and still has the promise of House tea, Rainbows, a Guide training, duty and lock-up to come, it's going fair to middling. Waaaaah!

Tim asks:

Do you like your countries then?

S'pose so, although I'm not quite sure why I need them. Mind you, they do provide entertainment, in true computer fashion:

It's confused, I'm really in England somewhere, sorry. Si

Be not sorry, m'dear, just smirk at the supposed ineffability of computers!

Finally,

how come you don't go on jabber anymore? And why is your jabber address not on your blog?

you've stopped using jabber! *complain* :P

It's not just Jabber I've been avoiding, I've been steering clear of any instant messaging thingy for at least six weeks - ever since the frantic end of last term, in fact. This term I've been inundated with work (exams loom ever closer, and that creates marking like nothing else) and I've not had the time to get back online. This evening I have two lots of U6 work, three sets of L6 work and 2 sets of GCSE answers: there's certainly no time for sitting back and catching up with friends. Pish!

BRRRRR-fuck!-BRRRRR-fire alarm-BRRRRR-open eyes-BRRRRR-grab jeans-BRRRRR-find jumper-BRRRRR-get to door-BRRRRR-grab fire list-BRRRRR-WAA WAA WAA WAA-fuck, intruder alarm!-BRRRRR-WAA WAA-hurry back and turn off alarm-WAA WAA W.... - BRRRRR-out-BRRRRR-go back in to rescue scholarship candidates-BRRRRR-BRRRRR-BR... blessed relief as the fire alarm gets silenced.

Living in a communal school building has its drawbacks.

It all started at the end of last week, when I checked my mail at midnight and then discovered (at 7am the next morning) that I had 14 new emails from that box o'er there. On further investigation, I discovered that they were all from Tim, who'd obviously been having a late night spodding:

I'm very spoddy. See if you can work it out :)

Your name is only 3 letters. Even I can remember that.

I wonder if Fatso can spell Mad?

Well, I tried to get him typing but he couldn't get the hang of the mouse. Some time, when I have a spare few minutes, I'll get the pictures up here. And still he continues:

Having read Charl's comment, I wonder if there could be such thing as a cookery novel. Sort of like a story but with plenty of recipes slotted in.

Sadly it's already been done by several people. I'm sure I have many books with recipes in, although I'm not going to go and look them up now. However, Tim's spoddy project was the tweaking of my blog-comments-thingy so it tells me which country people are from. This came in useful with these two comments:

Cor, you were one of the rare people who got rain on the weekend.

Planet Mad welcomes visitors from the Netherlands?

Why indeed we do: all welcome here! And in my bestest Dutch: hallo. (And that's about where my knowledge of Dutch deserts me, although I can still remember the words for cyclist, car, tractor and pancake. Mrs J might be able to do better than I can). The rain was inconsequential, although still enough for me to whinge about! And finally:

How close do you have to be to the rumbling diesel generator for it to bring a smile to your face? Sat on top? ;-))) Aye aye! (Sorry... filthy mind!)

How rude! It'd be more likely to lull me to sleep: I always enjoyed napping in the lorry cab during my breaks from work because of the gentle massaging effect of the wobbly lorry. And before that's misinterpreted too, I'm off. Tarra!

A general plea...

OK, OK. I know I like a joke as much as the next person, if not more so, especially if it's rude or clever, but this is getting silly. We're four days into May now - you can stop pratting about and pretending it's still April. Yes, it's you I'm talking to; stop trying to look innocent. I know your scheme: you've been taunting me with glorious sun and then saving up that especially heavy rain for times when I'm walking round school. Just stop it! Besides, haven't you heard? April showers are just sooo last month. We'd like some sun that lasts for more than 10 minutes: get it sorted!

nice to know it wasn't just me getting foiled on the bread and milk run!

Phew! I am not alone! To make up for my appalling shopping disaster, I had to go to the Legion and there encountered an appalling snooker disaster. It's not been a particularly productive or scintilating evening, so I'm off to bed, alone and sober. How rock 'n' roll of me.

Pah! I tried to make good use of my free evening by heading off to the bustling metropolis, for staples such as bread, milk and whisky. It was only as I pulled onto the supermarket carpark that I realised that Bank Holiday equals early closing. Bastards. They could at least have warned me.

The rain passed all too quickly, whilst the teaching dragged on and on and on. I'd like to be on holiday today.

Bank holiday Monday. It's raining and miserable out there, and I'm almost glad that I'm going to be stuck indoors teaching.

you know I said 'yes please, write a novel'? Can I take it back? Your writing makes me hungry. Charl (300 words to go. Woo Hoo!)

OK, I'll put the novel on hold. Probably a good job as I was struggling to schedule it before... oooh... 2006 :-)

I never knew you work on fairgrounds.

Well, there you go: another bit of random information to clog up important storage space in your brain. Later on in life, when you'll be struggling to remember your name, all you will be able to recall is the fact that I loiter round fairgrounds in a professional sort of way. Sorry!

After a Saturday consisting of teaching, parents' meeting and duty in the House, what better thing to do than grab an overnight bag, jump in the Madmobile and head off to the coast? The seaside in particular was Llandudno, where the whole town centre is shut down and turned into a massive street fair. I went out there to visit Mr Jack and Judith, who own the gallopers and the chair-o-planes that I worked on during my university holidays.

I loved working on the fair. The colours, sounds and smells are indelibly etched into my soul, and even now the smell of fried onions or the rumble of a diesel generator can bring a smile to my face. Llandudno's street fair is one of the busiest weekends of the season; the last time I worked there was the weekend before my university finals. I've spent today rediscovering skills I thought I'd forgotten: walking the platforms as the ride turns; lifting children onto and off of horses; behaving in such a way the the customers' perceptions of fairgrounds are challenged and altered. More than once my accent caught people unawares; several expressed surprise that I was a teacher.

The gallopers were built originally in 1887 and, despite modification and restoration, are still driven by a steam centre engine and music is provided - in a somewhat out-of-tune way - by a Gavioli organ which runs off cardboard books of music. I'm at risk of sounding like a real anorak here, so I'll let the titles of these (slightly blurry, camera phone) pictures do the talking instead:

The best part of today has been seeing everyone again. I've not really been out on the fair for six years, but - apart from a few more wrinkles round the eyes, or a slightly fuller boilersuit - no-one's changed. The jokes are still the same, the quips and comments haven't altered, the same people are always the topic of conversation. It felt like I haven't been away for a week.

I feel relaxed, invigorated and not a little sunburned. Perhaps I should get out more often.

For the first time since I had all my hair cut off, way back in 1997, I've had the problem of hair getting in my eyes. I'm going to have to invest in a hairband. Pah!

The fried egg I have just eaten was delicious. Admitedly it was slow-fried in butter so wasn't exactly the most healthy meal, but it was yummy.

Sage hamsterly advice: here

Why, I thank you. Fatso has been pestering me to add him to the Madmobile's insurance. I shall show him this picture and resist his pleading.

Rob sent me this cheeky little link. I shall be trying some of these out in my classroom during the coming days. Hurrah!

Errrr... why does the only female have to do the cooking? Have the other teachers experienced your cooking? Jon P.S. You don't half waffle some times :-) Can you draw me a single framed cartoon instead of a novel?

And a further admonishment from the man himself

And stop posting whilst I'm writing to you....

Waffle is good, especially Belgian waffle. Besides, it's mainly procrastination to avoid marking: you can't begrudge me that, can you?! Mind you, I'm tempted by the cartoon challenge.... maybe something to work on after I've finished marking my exam papers.

Seeing as you've got one of them there photo phones, lets have a gander at the dulux dog. Love Dave

Sadly the dog is no more: this morning's shower finished it off, although I also caused plenty of damage by sleeping on it. Today I'm back to curls and waves. This is probably a good thing.

Early morning after the night before. Squint in mirror. Wince at reflection. FUCK! Huge grey hair. How can it possibly fight against this much hair dye? Squint closer. Ah. It's cotton thread. Bollocks.

There I was, innocently mooching round the House, when all of a sudden I was leapt upon by two sixth formers armed with hair straighteners, mousse and wax. I now have hair that smells like a coconut and is the same size and shape as a dulux dog.

It continued to rain throughout D of E, but we cooked on the balcony overlooking the astroturf instead: its roof did a sterling job. The gannets ate all of the food I took with me, everything from cous-cous to instant porridge. I, however, had to do without, as one group had borrowed my trangia. Oh, the torture of watching others stuff their faces when holding an empty plate of one's own! That'll teach me: I'll take my own portion of food next week!

Being the only female on the Duke of Edinburgh's team in school, it falls to me to run the session on expedition cookery. I spent a happy hour in the supermarket yesterday eying up totty weighing up the advantages of fresh pasta over quick-cook stuff; and contemplating the intricacies of one-pan cooking on a meths-fuelled Trangia stove. I bought loads of different food to try out, and in less than two hours I'm going to have eighteen kids attempting to cook for me. I'm quite excited about the prospect.

I just hope the rain holds off.

Ooh please write a novel., I need something to distract me from the dissertation fear (and the thorntons). Charl

Sadly, my chosen employment is slightly incompatible with novel writing. Instead, I offer you these easy-to-follow instructions for dissertation diversion:

1) Scroll to the ARCHIVES section o'er there on the right
2) Choose a month at random and click on the approprate link
3) When the page has loaded, press print

Voila! Hours of work-avoidance guaranteed! (It's also likely to annoy fellow students as you will tie up the print queue for hours so may not be the best thing to do if essay deadlines are approaching!)

In typical English fashion, we ought to start by discussing the weather:

We had glorious sunshine (as we had all weekend as well) this afternoon .. I donned the shades and headed out to site. The wonders of living by the south coast! Caz

That's coz it's nearer the equator, you know!

There are times I wish I lived somewhere a bit greener. Last night, I went for a drive just to get somewhere that was as refreshing as Repton sounds today. It's never quite the same on your own, though. I really need to plan ahead for my weekends and book some mates before they make their own plans. ;-) Simonside looked fantastic in the setting sun. Hope you get to enjoy the rest of it today. :) Adios! Mal. x

Hmm. The weather was like that here too. Now it's chucking down with rain. Newcastle, eh?

And associated with that:

If you ever write a novel, I'm going to buy it and devour it. Your descriptive writing is joyous. Ashley... and come back to my screen for a chat when you've time...

Me? Write a novel?! I've not got that sort of dedication. Besides, I'd get horribly confused and swing from pretentious words to flippant frippery too quickly; readers don't tend to appreciate that sort of thang, I suspect! If I did write a novel though, you can guarantee that it would be (approximately) correct in terms of SPAG*, as is the writing of many others:

From one grammar god to another, congratulations! - Mal. :)

wheee im a grammar god aswell, must run in the blood lol, are you going to llandudno?

That second comment coming from my brother, who proves quite adequately that his grammar god skills are only temporary. :-) And the answer to the Llandudno question is: mebbe, if I can find out what my boss is doing this weekend.

Onwards and upwards:

Thorntons.co.uk oh dear. I fear I may be sunk.

And they do home delivery too: that's just unfair! What's a woman to do?! After all, it would be impolite not to...

Spelling, Punctuation and Grammar. Now replaced by QWC (Quality of Written Communication) which doesn't have quite the same ring about it. Hey ho, that's teachers for you!

In the course of this afternoon, the hazy blue shifted to deep grey and ominous rumblings drifted in at the very edge of hearing. At 4.00pm, the end of afternoon lessons, the ground shook under cracking, snapping crashes of thunder. Within three minutes the rain was falling: fat, wet drops that soaked through clothes and caused gasps as water met skin. Now, everywhere smells of rain, kids run squealing down the lane and I look out of my window, for once glad of marking that keeps me indoors.

This morning the streets were full of the smell that comes before a hot, cloudless day. The early morning sun took the ordinary, drab colours and breathed bold life into them. I walked to work reminiscing about camping trips in Italy, where breakfast was alway accompanied by these sights and smells.

Walking back to the House for lunch, the colours have faded into a shimmer of pastels; the sky is a hazy blue that appears almost grey. The smell is now that of freshly-mown grass. In the borders, flowers jostle and dance gently in the breeze. It feels like midsummer.

Been a bit quiet here for the last couple of days.

It has indeed; something to do with a) a silly workload, which is still revolving round the assessment of GCSE coursework, covering for an absent colleague and preparation for an oratorio performance this evening; and b) the realisation that I needed a bit of "me time" that didn't involve computers or being awake. Normal progress should be resumed soon.

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!


If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!


How grammatically sound are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Bwa-ha-ha!! How little do they know?! :-)

A hint or tip:

When eating your Belgian chocolates, do not bite the cherry liquor one in half whilst leaning over a pupil's GCSE work. It will dribble and leave a hard-to-explain sticky mess.

Whoops.

This evening's magnificent culinary experiment ended in tears and disaster as my cooker decided to ignore its thermostat and carry on heating up. The result was slightly (ahem) carbonated. Instead I cooked the baby potatoes, swirled them in butter and black pepper, and served them with a whopper omlette stuffed full of mushrooms, bacon and cheese. 'Twas nice, although not quite what I'd intended. Either way, it was better than the minging nuggets and greasy fries on offer in the House. Maybe I need some Belgian chocolates now to round off the feast...

When faced with a large pile of marking* I do the obvious thing: cook. My onion has been sauted, my borlotti beans drained and my tomatoes well and truly pureed. It's a "see what you can find in the cupboard and bung it all in the oven on a medium-low heat and wait for it to cook" type meal, and I'm quite excited about its prospects. To be served with a smattering of baby potatoes and some roasted peppers, if I feel up to it.

Oh, and the GCSE coursework? I'll do it instead of washing up!

* Already! Three days into term! Don't get me started on the pressure placed on teachers by the impending exams!! :-)

Hrm, naked tea. A new twist on the nice gent bringing your tea in the morning..... You know, tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and just *know* I'm missing something. ;(

My commiserations. Normally *I* wake up and realise that the something I'm missing is several more hours of sleep. *And* I won't get tea until breaktime at 11am. Woe is me!

A quiet drink with Ian, Jeremy and Serenedd turned into a debauched toast-fest, complemented by rude word scrabble:

Happiness is discovering a bag on the table containing not one, not two, but three cadbury's cream eggs. Mmmm....

With reference to this and this, I assume:

Naked Tea! Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells (via Ormskirk)

Oh no, my dear. It normally wore a cup.

If I turn left out of the drive rather than right, I walk to school along a path through playing fields. After four weeks of loving care and attention, without hoardes of footballers and rugby players yomping across it, the grass is thick and bright green. It takes a lot of willpower not to shed my shoes and walk across it barefoot. I'm obviously getting old: the young me wouldn't have hesitated.

Today:
8.30am - chapel
9.00am - assembly
9.30am - teaching
1.00pm - lunch
2.00pm - teaching
4.00pm - get back to flat; get changed; mark 2 pieces of GCSE coursework
5.40pm - serve dinner to the girls
6.15pm - string orchestra rehearsal
7.30pm - intend to do more marking but get sidetracked by a colleague's offer of a pint
8.00pm - arrive in the Legion
9.30pm - get back to flat; consider marking; phone a few people instead
10.05pm - check email and get sidetracked by bloggage; seriously contemplate abandoning marking

Start as you mean to go on, I say!

It's a beautiful day out there: sunny; warm; birds singing; flowers blooming. It's probably the nicest day I've seen in... oooh... weeks. Typical, then, that it's the first day of term. Pah!

Sometimes you find things out on the internetweb mallarky that make you sit up and think, that jolt you from your usual apathy. Two of these sites from today's surfing: Riverbend's tales of life in Baghdad and Kid of Speed's pictures from Chernobyl. Far better than planning lessons.

ah yes, I miss that man bringing me tea in bed too! w

That'll be Miss H, reflecting on the usefulness of lodgers. The only problem arises when they decide to move on and take the teapot with them, not to mention half of the other kitchen equipment! Pah! ;-)

Did you pay the 6 quid, or somebody else?

I did, I'm afraid. Worth every penny though.

School starting on Sunday is a well silly idea. Have these people not heard of weekends?

Nope, sadly not. By 9pm tomorrow the sproglets should all be here, excited and ready to go. Me: I'll be sitting in a heap in the corner, wibbling.

I'm worried that you may have developed a tea addiction.

There's no "may" about it: it's a certainty. With extra milk if there's an option, unless it's poncy tea, in which case nude is preferable. I didn't drink tea at all ever, whatever the circumstances, until about 4 years ago, when I had someone who would bring me tea in bed when he disappeared off to work. Since then, I can't keep off the stuff. Can't say it's done me much harm, all things considered.

First class? Isn't that a bit posh for a public school teacher?

Nah - a mere six squid supplement and Robert's your mother's brother: wide aisles, big seats, free tea - bdoing!

Things wot I did in London wot pleased me:

* Had a picnic lunch by the Thames in Hammersmith, basking in the sunlight like a whale. If only the weather had been like that in Belgium!
* Mooched through Leicester Square, reminiscing about drinking my way round London with Charl
* Round the Horne Revisited, which was just grand.
* Went to the Science Museum, played with lots of interactive displays, gawped at everything from planes to washing machines, and let my inner brat run riot
* Staring in wonderment at the pictures in the Earth From The Air exhibition at the Natural History museum. If you're in London and you've not been, go. It's as simple as that.
* Lounged in first class on the train back - hurrah for Weekend First!

Am off to London tonight, to go to the theatre with Mark. We're off to see Round The Horne Revisited somewhere near Leicester Square, which fills me with great pleasure as I'm quite fond of Round The Horne, in an understated sort of way. This is my final bid for freedom before school starts again on Sunday; I suppose I'd better take some planning to do on the train. Hey ho!

Mad's jaunt to Belgium, in numbers:
95 Scouts; 28 leaders; 6 hours in a coach each way; 0 degrees celcius every night; hundreds of stars; 2 days in Brussels; countless cups of tea; at least 10 Scouts who found my Irish accent so convincing they couldn't believe I was from near Birmingham; at least 20 who finished the trip with some hint of Irish in their speech; 5 or so patrols who were helped with their washing-up by the Irish Leprechaun Scritchers; lots of chocolate, beer n waffles.
Number of hours sleep per night: not enough.
Number of laughs, giggles and moments of general merriment: too many to count!

I'm looking forward to returning to school for a rest!

If you haven't already guessed by the smell, I'm off. Tarra!

I'm becoming nocturnal. This worries me because a) I still haven't packed anything and therefore have to get up early tomorrow to get it all done; and b) I have to go to the land of Beer and Chocolate tomorrow, and I'd hate to sleep through it all. And don't be deceived by the time-stamp on this blog entry: blogger's not worked out BST yet, and it's actually an hour later than it appears to be, if that makes sense.

Washing machines. Pah! I'm just not cut out for domesticity.

Think of the chocolate.

I do, frequently. And I think of the beer too. Mmmmm.... :-) As practice and to build up stamina, I've eaten nothing but chocolate for the last 24 hours. I feel great! (although I suspect that's the sugar rush talking!)

Although jaunts away are nice, I always like coming home. The days after the return, though, are inevitably filled with lounging, laundry, post, email and the frantic buying of food because it's all gone out of date. Slothful - yes; interesting - nope. I ought to be packing right now (off to Belgium tomorrow) but I just can't face it. Pish!

The conversations you have with your brother when it's late-ish on a Sunday evening

Mad: you've not got an old computer you'd like to give me?! ;-)
Edd: :O
Mad: LOL
Edd: no unfortunately
Mad: pah
Mad: well, should the occasion arise...
Edd: ive only ever had one computer
Edd: just bits of it get upgraded at a time
Mad: is any of it the original computer?
Edd: like a brrom thats had 15 heads and 10 handles
Edd: its still the same brrom to
Edd: tho*
Edd: ffs wtf is brrom?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the philosophical question for today: wtf is brrom?

Show And Tell - piccies from Mad's lounging week (not that it's worth holding your breath for, but they amused and pleased me so you're going to have them inflicted upon you nonetheless)

If you squint closely at this image you will realise that it is none other than Super Chocolate Rabbit in his blue, flying ninja cape. He did, however, make the mistake of landing on top of my hot chocolate and is pictured rapidly sinking into the swirly mass of whipped cream. Luckily the evil marshmallow pirahnas were not in evidence this day. Phew!

I've been in Sheffield this weekend visiting Charlotte and Dave and helping with a Scout Night Hike. To say it was damp is an understatement; I've never been more pleased by my waterproof trousers. I drove home through some pretty horrendous rain too, but the sun came out as I arrived back in Repton. This was the view as I got out of the car.

Before heading off to Sheffield I spent a few days relaxing in Cheltenham. The sun shone, the temperatures soared, girls wore skimpy tops: spring lust was in the air. I guess it's just that time of year again.

(Photos of my Classical Tour are now developed but still in need of scanning. One day, mebbe)

I have exciting photos (actually they're not that exciting so don't hold your breath, but they are amusing, in a Mad-sense-of-humour sort of way) but I can't remember how to get them into my webspace. It involves ftp and whizzy things like that but it's not working. This is infuriating, as a) I forget how to do this every single time and b) because I really want to share my picture of the ninja rabbit being swallowed up by a bed of whipped cream. Back to the instruction book, methinks!